


this is how i show my love

by joeri



Category: VAZZROCK, ツキウタ。 | Tsukiuta.
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/joeri
Summary: ayumu is thankful, terribly,terriblyso.(how the [ありがとう] drama track really ended)





	this is how i show my love

**Author's Note:**

> i fell ass first into vazzrock (specifically rock down) and saw that theres currently no fic or anything… a travesty. really.
> 
> cant promise that this will be good or that there will even be an audience out there for these boys but heres hoping.
> 
> edit: idk whether to make this G or T but w/e im keeping it at T just in case

The cloudied neon glow of the stage, the scream of the crowd, the ringing in his ears—it all echoed in the back of Ayumu’s mind. A headache brewed. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, not of sadness but of sickness. His nose clogged. _Boy_ had he overextended himself.

Breathing into a crumpled tissue, Ayumu coughed. He felt like hot garbage. Having changed into clean clothes, his skin beneath still pinched up with gooseflesh from the rain, from the cold, from the weather, but everywhere Reiji had touched him had felt good, felt okay, felt _healthy_ somehow.

His flesh burned from where Reiji’s fingers had lingered, had pressed up against him and scooped him up from his wobbling knees, knocking together, shivering with illness. It wasn’t fair. Reiji didn’t deserve to see him weak and infirm. What Ayumu wouldn’t give to see Reiji out of sorts, in need of assistance or a pick-me-up. Lord knows Ayumu couldn’t possibly carry him should he physically collapse like Ayumu had done too many times tonight, but it’d even the scales some, make him feel not so pathetic.

Really, pathetic was the word for it. His pride sunk with every grasp of Reiji’s firm hands, capable hands, _powerful_ hands—Ayumu shook his head. Enough of _that_ train of thought. Ayumu was positive if he thought too highly about Reiji too loudly, the bastard would hear it.

Blinking his eyes open and shut, training his vision on the black-gray ceiling of the taxi cab, his vision shook and blurred. His teeth clenched and his tongue twitched. The thudding ache of his sinuses caused a cough to erupt out of him, and he silently chided himself for showing his cold yet again, writhing beneath the knowing stare that Reiji leveraged his way.

Surrounded on all sides by the pitter-patter of rain against the windows, the dark of the sky, the pressuring stare of his bandmate and the indifferent cab driver, Ayumu winced. He’d love to be home. God, his limit for social activity had bottomed out and he absolutely needed to be in bed beneath ten layers of covers with a humidifier.

“How about sleeping until we get there?” Reiji asked.

That was such a good idea but, that kind of vulnerability was scary, unsafe. It was just what Reiji wanted, knowing too well that the other man got his jollies from seeing Ayumu open like a blossom to him, share his intimacy without giving away any of his own. _Unfair._

“I’m not sleepy…” he whispered, unconvincing and strung out; it’s like he wasn’t even aware of the exasperation slipping into his throat.

“You’ve been standing under bright lights for a while,” Reiji reasoned, gesturing to Ayumu; the shoulder of his improperly worn jacket somehow not slipping off. “Your eyes must be tired. How about just closing them for a while?”

That was a trap. Ayumu recognized traps. Squinting at nothing in particular, he tried to imagine Reiji’s face before his, too exhausted, stiff in the neck to turn his head and address him face-to-face all proper.

“They’re not that strained…”

“Good grief,” Reiji sighed, eyebrow aloft in lazy vexation. “How long are you gonna act tough?”

It was something of an act, yes, Ayumu could agree inside his mind, but it wasn’t any of Reiji’s business. Reiji liked to make himself into a busybody, make the affairs of everyone else his responsibility while hiding his true feelings all the while.

In all the time Ayumu’s known him, Ayumu wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen genuine weakness out of him. Reiji was a king at holding his cards. Slouching further into his seat, arms crossed in something defiant and arrogantly masculine, splitting his legs terribly wide (and thereby encroaching on Ayumu’s leg space), Reiji closed both eyes and shuffled his shoulders all around, getting as comfortable as he may dare in the cab back seat.

He said then in a huffier voice, “well, I’m going to sleep.”

“Eh?”

Reiji propped his head back, finding the perfect angle against the rise of the back seat’s top to saddle his neck upon where it connects with his skull.

“The driver will probably say when we get there, since I won’t know. I’ll be asleep. You do what you want.”

That language stuck out to Ayumu like a prod in the chest, like a thumb and forefinger tugging his cheek to pay attention. It was obvious and so… compelling.

“What I want…?”

“Good night,” Reiji insisted firmly.

“Are… you going to sleep?”

“Yeah, I’m sleeping so don’t talk to me,” confirmed Reiji.

Coughing again, proving his status, that of a sickly boy, one that needed rest and recovery, Ayumu slipped a little deeper into the seat too like something of a copycat, following suit as he nodded with an awkward stutter in his jaw.

“Y-yeah…” He coughed some more and a silence blew over them. The cab careened steadily along the downtown street and the lights stung like needles through the back of his eyes. Ayumu squinted and thanked the thundering outside, thanked the opaque spatter of rain against the windows, blotting out the brightness, thanked the driver for the quiet between them.

It took the quiet for Ayumu to realize how much he valued the presence of Reiji beside him, the warmth of his knee against his, the resounding noise of his breath flooding in and out of him as his chest rose and fell.

Cars did not honk or speed past. If anything the world appeared to still itself for a minute or two: the traffic turning singular commonplace moments into something almost magic, something strangely a marvel and memorable without even aiming for it.

Glancing over to Reiji, Ayumu took in the sight of his wide collar, thick shoulders—the kind you’d stack potted plants on top of, his typically well pleased smile replaced with the solitary, soundless sort of wooden face that accompanied slumber, accompanied his unguarded nature. It felt private, it felt… special.

Ayumu swallowed. “The rain’s not stopping, huh,” he said, gauging his wakefulness.

Not a peep out of him, not even a twitch of the eyes.

“Are you… already sleeping?” Ayumu asked, certain as a silver coin that Reiji wouldn’t answer even if he’d been faking it.

The subtle snoring sound slithering its way out of Reiji’s nose felt honest and ugly. It was undignified and that, to Ayumu, felt real to him. Typically, acting was glamourous. Acting was close but fake. In every drama that Reiji had been in that Ayumu had seen, Reiji had a phenomenal toolkit of expressions, moods and tones and talented ways he could make himself cry, bring himself to the edge of anger or fake on-screen kisses, but how easy could one man fake sleep?

Blinking slowly, Ayumu gazed up through his silky eyelashes, drinking in the sight of Reiji’s napping form. The car jumbled over a pothole and Reiji jostled around, ragdolled and did not stiffen.

Mumbling to himself, Ayumu said, “I can never really tell if Reiji’s just acting or not.”

His heart sweltered in his chest. “Well, I guess it’s too late for that now.”

Reiji did so much to help Ayumu to the car, collect their bags and all their things, carried him gentle when the sickness had it’s way with him, asked for nothing in return—Reiji never really asked for anything in return, just liked to go out to eat or con Ayumu into accepting sweets and other gifts (likely to boost his own ego.)

After lugging all their luggage into the cab, a sheen of rainwater leaked out from Reiji’s hair, clung his locks to his face, soaked his gray button-up through to his tanner skin, colored the tint of his cheeks a pale peach-pink and gave his lips a misty texture.

Ayumu’s mouth ached. His spirit wanted a taste.

“Thank you for today,” he said, chastely pressing the teeniest peck into Reiji’s lips.

Maybe if it hadn’t been for the way he leaned up against him, sunk into him, Reiji wouldn’t have stirred awake. Perhaps if Ayumu hadn’t pressed both hands into his thigh, craned up to reach his mouth proper, Reiji wouldn’t have snatched the back of Ayumu’s head and deepened the contact sudden and softly.

No word from the cab driver. No sound but the glitter of rain around them. Just the two men trying to find the proper place for their hands, and their lips melted into one another like glue, like cellophane, like sticky teens and it stuck.

They were both far too old to be pulling stunts like this, but Reiji licked Ayumu’s mouth, making the mistake of snickering slow and then Ayumu ducked down and out of his grip, shielding his mouth with two spread wide eyes.

His pulse sped quick enough to kill him, and yet it didn’t. Something about Reiji kept him alive. Something about Reiji kept him _fine,_ and he hated to admit that.

Ayumu hated knowing that Reiji took good care of him, that the sound of his chuckle made his belly corkscrew—twist delightfully.


End file.
